Hold On
by Maxiekat
Summary: Heading to Neverland on Hook's ship, Emma decides to ask him to teach her how to sail. What starts off as the usual flirty banter filled with eye-rolling innuendos and sarcasm turns a bit deeper as the conversation grows serious and they find out more about each other. One Shot. COMPLETE


Note – I don't own _Once Upon a Time_ or _Hold On_ by Tom Waits.

**Hold On**

_Take my hand, I'm standing right here  
You gotta hold on_

Emma braced her hands on the railing as the deck rolled beneath her feet. Her stomach rolled with it and she took a deep breath, willing the hardtack and salt pork she'd had for lunch to stay put. If she'd known how awful the food was that Hook had stocked in his galley, she would have suggested a quick grocery store run before they set sail. No wonder pirates loved rum so much – get drunk enough, you wouldn't care what you ate.

She glanced down at the sea below, the impossibly blue water parting in their wake. She squinted, wondering what monsters lurked beneath the surface – given how their luck had been going, she couldn't even guess. Lately, her imagination had been far outmatched by what now passed as reality. The ship lurched suddenly as it rocked over a large swell and she tightened her grip on the railing.

"You'll get your sea legs soon enough," an all too familiar voice called down at her from his ever-present perch at the helm. He'd barely left the wheel since they set sail, making constant minute adjustments to their course, supposedly taking them closer to Neverland and closer to Henry.

She still had no idea what had prompted Hook's change of heart but that whole saying, "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth," had become her mantra ever since he'd docked his ship and offered his help.

Emma felt his gaze on her. She didn't have to look over her shoulder to know he was watching her and it wasn't the first time since they'd set off on their ragtag voyage that she'd noticed him doing so. It bugged the hell out of her and she couldn't figure out why.

"So, how do you steer this thing?" she asked as she pushed herself away from the railing and wobbled over to where he was standing, grabbing onto some rigging for balance.

"_Thing_?" he said, a look of feigned horror on his face. "This _thing_ is the _Jolly Roger_, one of the finest ships to sail the seas."

She rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "Well, aren't you modest?"

He, of course, heard her and raised an eyebrow. "I've been accused of many things, love, modesty isn't one of them."

He took a step back as she walked toward the wheel. He made a sweeping motion with his hook as he bowed, offering for her to take his place. "You want to learn how to sail?"

She shrugged and nodded at the same time. She liked control and having at least a faint idea of how the thing worked would put her more at ease.

"What's the plan?" he asked softly as he took her hand in his and placed it on one of the handles radiating out from the wheel. "I teach you and then you mutiny and maroon me on some deserted island and sail off with my ship?" He repeated the action with her other hand, his hand lingering over hers far longer than necessary, his thumb brushing against the back of her wrist.

She swallowed and cleared her throat, trying not to let him rattle her. "I hardly think you need to worry about mutiny. You're overreacting."

"Oh, really?" He stepped back, his black coat flourishing around his legs as he swept his arms out to the side, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "We're sailing into the one land I've sworn I would never sail into again and I've got the Evil Queen and the Dark One below deck as my honored guests and I'm overreacting?"

"Takes a villain to know a villain, I suppose."

He dropped his arms and he looked down, the constant smirk gone. "Ay, that's me, love," he said, his voice so low she had to strain to hear him. "A villain."

A few seconds passed – awkward as hell as he stared at his feet and she felt a rush of guilt, like she'd accidentally kicked a puppy. Squaring her shoulders, she returned to the wheel and his ship – a topic she knew she could distract him with. "So, this is basically like driving a car, right?"

"You mean that metal monstrosity that ran me down?" He grabbed onto the handle just beneath the one she was holding onto and nudged the wheel to left. "A ship is far more complicated than what passes for transport in your world. Not just any old fool can get her to respond the way you want her to." He raised an eyebrow, his voice dropping an octave. "Takes a delicate, practiced touch."

"And you've had lots of practice." She fed him the line, figuring she owed him that much after the villain jab she hadn't really meant to make.

"Loads." He winked, obviously pleased with himself.

An hour later and she was starting to get the hang of it. Hell, she was even smiling, which was something she had done very little of since Henry had been kidnapped.

Hook was off to the side, his back braced against the railing, his legs crossed at his ankles as he watched over her. He grinned. "I think you've got a little pirate in you, Swan."

"Your innuendos are getting a bit obvious, don't you think?"

Hook straightened up and took a step toward her. "No innuendo, love, just an observation."

"Sure." Emma shrugged. "Years ago, you could say I had a brush with lawlessness."

"What changed?"

"I grew up."

"Shame, that." Hook leaned closer, his breath against her ear. "But I wouldn't be so sure." He brushed a calloused finger down the side of her face, down her neck, coming to rest on her collarbone. She felt her cheeks grow hot and her pulse quicken. This wasn't good - this wasn't good at all.

"The open sea agrees with you," he observed. "Flush to your cheeks, your bosom heaving."

"My bosom does not, has not, and will never heave."

"Yet," he said with a wicked grin. With his hook, he caught a lock of her hair the wind had blown over her shoulder and he idly twirled it around and around, anchoring her to him. He leaned in closer and whispered, "Oh, and in case you weren't sure, that was an innuendo, darling."

It was on the tip of her tongue to say something daring and flirty back – she could give just as good as he gave, but then she remember why they were there in the first place and it was like the sun darkened and the breeze died and her world shrank. She pulled her hair free from his hook and step away from the wheel. "Your turn. My shoulders are getting sore."

He seemed startled for a second that she wasn't going to keep up their banter, but his eyes clouded over with understanding when his gaze met hers. "Whatever you say, love."

She turned to leave but he reached out and grabbed her arm, his hand warm against her skin that had been chilled by the sea breeze. "We'll find him, Emma, I promise you."

She slid her arm through his grasp until their hands met and she let her fingers entwine with his for a brief moment. She squeezed his hand gently and smiled a sad smile. "Thank you."

XxXxXxXxXx

Hook found her later, below deck at the table in the galley. Emma was nursing a tankard of mead, sipping slowly, wincing as she lowered it to the gently rocking table. He hesitated for a second and then left the doorway, returning moments later with a dark bottle and two small glasses.

"This'll do the trick far faster than that," he said as he took the seat across from her. He planted one glass in front of her and one in front of himself. Uncorking the bottle with his teeth, he dropped the stopper onto the floor and poured them each a shot. He raised his glass in salute and said, "Drink up, lass."

She drank the rum in one gulp, thankful for the burn and the warmth that spread through her almost immediately. Without asking, he refilled her glass and then his. He sat the bottle on the table between them.

"Was Milah your true love?" she asked, completely out of the blue.

He faltered for a moment before regaining his usual flippancy. "True love? Magic kisses? Bollocks if you ask me."

Elbow on the table, she rested her chin on her hand. "A year ago, I would have agreed with you."

"Now?" He kept his gaze on her, steady, as he filled his glass with another shot. His third, not that she was keeping count.

"Being the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming puts things into perspective," she mumbled with a wry twist of her mouth.

He laughed. "I suppose it would, wouldn't it?"

"You loved her," she said simply. It wasn't a question.

"I loved her."

"And you knew Neal?"

He nodded. He downed the next shot a little faster than the others, his hands unsteady as he refilled the glass. At this rate, the bottle would be empty within the next few minutes. "Baelfire," he said, hissing through his teeth as the rum burned down his throat. "He was brave and a good lad."

She looked down, twisted her glass on the table, fidgeting. "I think my Neal was a lot different from your Baelfire."

"How so?"

She took a deep breath. "He left me when I needed him most." She looked up, her eyes meeting his. "I was alone and …"

"Scared," he finished for her.

She sat up straighter on the bench, shrugging off the word, bracing for an argument. "Hey, I …"

"The great Emma Swan doesn't get scared?"

She tensed at that, ready to fight him, but he was grinning and the anger left her. "Fine. I was scared," she admitted.

"We all go off course a bit sometimes," he said and the mask was gone and Emma knew she wasn't seeing Hook anymore. "He did the right thing when it mattered most, Emma. He saved you." He held up the glass, tipping it toward the ceiling and she knew he was drinking to Neal. She held hers up as well, her eyes filling with tears.

"Getting Henry back isn't just for you, you know," Hook said after he emptied his glass and sat it on the table, not reaching to refill it.

"Neal was here with you, wasn't he? In Neverland?" Emma asked, putting the pieces together. Hook nodded, his eyes on the table as he dug his hook into already scarred wood. "Neal told me he lived with the Lost Boys, with Peter Pan."

Hook nodded again and the groove he was digging splintered. "Ay, that he did."

"But he was with you first?"

"Is this an interrogation?" He tried to laugh it off but she could tell it was getting to him.

"Did you try to keep Pan from taking Neal?"

"Of course." He forced himself to look her in the eye, but he knew immediately that was a mistake.

Her eyes narrowed. _Right_, he thought, remembering what she'd told him when they'd first met. _Bloody lie_ _detector, whatever in the hell that meant._

"Allow me this one lie, love," he pleaded quietly.

She tilted her head in that concerned way she had. "Guilt will eat away at you."

He laughed, a hollow, empty sound. "Oh, it's been gnawing for a few millennia, it seems, another day won't hurt."

"Saving Henry will help?"

He looked at her, all bravado and bluster gone from his expression. "Well, it can't hurt, can it?"

She grabbed the bottle and emptied that last bit of rum into each of their glasses – one last shot each. She picked up her glass. "Whatever the reason, I'm glad to have your help, Killian," she said, his name odd on her tongue but somehow right.

"To saving Henry," he said as he clinked his glass with hers.

"To Henry." The tears were close as she downed the rum, but she held them back.

He seemed shaken too and cleared his throat after his last gulp. "So, what's this story like in your world?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Story?"

"_The Adventures of Captain Hook_. I'm assuming that's what it's called." The twinkle was back in his eyes as he raised that damn eyebrow.

She snorted a laugh. "_Peter Pan_. It's called _Peter Pan_."

"Pan? Seriously?" His mouth dropped open and he pounded his fist on the table. "You've got to be bloody kidding me. Next thing you'll be telling me Rumpel-sodding-stiltskin has a story named after him as well."

"Well …" she started and he groaned.

"You can't tell me this now – not with all the rum gone."


End file.
